


Down In One

by FroldGapp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Whump, M/M, Poison, Prince Shiro (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-19 06:37:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14868621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FroldGapp/pseuds/FroldGapp
Summary: During a lavish party celebrating another Voltron win, Keith drinks something that isn't exactly to his taste.(accidentally posted half the chapter first time lulz)Thank you radiofreekerberos for the emergency beta!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting because I missed half the chapter... >_<
> 
> From a drabble I resurrected after I saw season six's DnD art.
> 
> Get at me here: froldgapp.tumblr.com !
> 
> Probably two chapters, maybe three!

Shiro smiled over his glass at Pidge, who was desperately trying to peel an over-enthusiastic fan from her side. Said fan had tentacles; Pidge was fighting a losing game.

The paladins, in varying degrees of enthusiasm, were being hosted by one Daika Brak; wealthy magnate and interim caretaker of a vast fossil fuel mining colony known only as The Give. The merchant gushed over the paladins for running a Galra fleet off-planet, congratulating them in the colony’s many news outlets and powerful circles. Shiro had explained it was all in a day’s work for Voltron, but Daika Brak would have none of it. The Paladins of Voltron were the universe’s only hope: young Earthlings, uncorrupted by the insidious shadow of the empire.

A party, he said, was only natural; the grandest party The Give had yet to see was more in line with what the paladins deserved. The event was ludicrously ostentatious: enormous fronds of gilded plants hung from the ceiling, fountains of syrupy golden liquid bubbled with the sound of a thousand tinkling diamonds. The food, while alien – no major surprises there – was fresh and plentiful. Five satisfied earthling tummies were rumbling from the sheer richness after so long on a diet of goo alone. Hunk was in his element, and had to be shooed from the kitchen several times before the head chef resorted to asking an unimpressed Shiro to intervene.

Allura had insisted the paladins dress up, but with no formal wear available on the castle, they were forced to rely on Daika Brak’s personal tailors. High necks, closely fitting panels, and skirted-trousers were apparently in fashion in The Give. Shiro, as the leader of Voltron, was granted a silver coronet that once belonged to the last King of The Give. Set with a gleaming triangle at the front, it did the job of obscuring most of his white hair. Hunk’s outfit was finished with shining furs, while Pidge was delighted with her tech-enhanced manicas. Lance was forced into a hat that was more peacock than apparel. He didn’t seem to mind much, however, and entertained himself by manoeuvring the feathers so they stuck into Keith’s mouth at any opportunity. While the others found themselves more or less at home in the formal wear and bright lights of the hall, Keith fussed like a child with the cuffs, the collar, and the delicate gold chain that sat nestled in his dark hair. He’d attempted to displace it, but Allura’s watchful eye caught him each time, and he was forced to put it back on while she glared with foot tapping. She and Coran alone were dressed “off-planet”, sticking to their Altean finery.

As drinks were poured by the gallon and dancing became looser, the lights dimmed into a fevered, festive evening. Hunk squealed with delight when he was bodily picked up by a centipede-like creature bearing a photograph of him. Hunk signed it with sauce from a passing delicacy held aloft on a waiter’s tray. The centipede-fan squealed with delight and threw several high-fives at the yellow paladin.

‘We’ll have to get used to this,’ Shiro said to Keith, who eyed the exchange with altogether less humour.

‘I’ll never get used to this,’ said the red paladin, shrinking back on himself like a spooked horse. He’d squinted at the party lights and jumped at every exploding party popper or raucous cheer all evening.

Allura approached them, cheeks full of colour from the madness and heat of the room – perhaps from the generous offering of drinks also. ‘How are we doing, paladins?’

‘Great.’

‘Terrible,’ the pair answered in a mess of syllables.

‘Chin up, Keith,’ Allura said lightly.

‘Do I have a choice?’ he replied, pulling at the stiff fabric around his throat.

‘Ah, my saviours!’ Daika Brak exclaimed, approaching the trio with a small entourage which, unsurprisingly, included Lance. ‘The blue paladin here has been telling me all about your adventures together, as well as his unmatched skills with a laser.’

‘And the ladies!’ Lance added, elbowing the magnate jovially.

‘Yes, of course!’ Brak chuckled, before turning shrewd eyes towards Keith. ‘Says you’re quite the renegade, red paladin. Though he did explain a thing or two about your eh…’ He cleared his throat dramatically and leaned close. ‘Heritage.’

‘Did he?’ Keith said, eyes fixed on a shrugging Lance.

Shiro stepped forward hastily and gestured at the passive-faced butler waiting at the edge of the group. He knew from experience that an audience – no matter how grand or important – would not deter the blue and red paladins from squabbling. ‘Are those for us?’ he asked quickly, noting the red, blue, black, green, yellow, pink and orange glasses, and was pleased when Lance stepped tutting out of Keith’s death glare.

Daika Brak smiled. ‘They are indeed! Mixed with love for each of the paladins of Voltron, and ordered especially after hearing about all your adventures from the blue paladin here.’

Lance waved an ostensibly coy hand.

Plucking each of the glasses from the tray, Daika Brak passed them out, first to Lance and Shiro, and then to the others as they drifted into the group. With an easy smile, he lifted the red glass from the gleaming gold tray and handed it to Keith. ‘For you, guardian spirit of fire. It may, eh, burn a little on the way down.’

Keith accepted the glass with two hands. He glanced to Shiro who smiled and raised his own drink in a silent cheers. Brak’s eyes were on him; dancing across his throat, his lips, his ears, his eyes, like the tip of a blade. Keith lowered the glass again, uneasy.

‘Try not to choke on having a good time, mullet,’ winked Lance, knocking back half his drink with loud gulps. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his indigo shirt. ‘I know you’re allergic.’

‘Ugh,’ Keith grunted, and brought the ruby-red cocktail to his lips. He tossed it down in a few mouthfuls as Daika Brak raised a cheer throughout the room. When Keith slammed the glass back to the tray, he caught Shiro’s eyes, all crow-footed with a smile.

‘The Paladins of Voltron!’ cried Daika Brak. ‘Long live the Paladins of Voltron!’

The room answered in kind, the roars so loud the chandelier above vibrated, diamonds trembling in their gilded fixtures.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get at me! froldgapp.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you radiofreekerberos for the emergency beta!

As the band struck up, the cheers quietened to an ebullient hum of conversation and the occasional squeal of delight. A few guests walked, slithered, or hopped onto the dance floor. One drew an uncomfortable hiss from the paladins when it broke into four constituent parts who all proceeded to jive together.

Keith coughed into his shoulder, a small thing.

‘Can’t handle your space-booze, huh Keith?’ jeered Lance.

‘Bite me.’

Daika Brak slapped Keith hard across the back, forcing him to stumble. He caught himself heavily on his right foot and cast an indignant glare over his shoulder. ‘A galra sure enough!’ cried Brak. ‘“Bite me! Yes! Very good!’ Keith ducked out of a second, equally damaging thwack. ‘Violence in the blood, one has to love it in a way, really.’

‘It’s just a figure –’

Shiro’s attempted explanation was in vain as Brak continued, leaning towards the waiter with a conspiratorial whisper. ‘It’s the blood, you see.’ The waiter nodded silently, eyes fixed on Keith. ‘Very hot-blooded these galra.’

‘Hot. Blooded,’ said Lance, sounding out the consonants like he was talking to the universe’s worst virtual assistant. At that, the blue paladin offered up his palms with a facetious grin and drifted backwards onto the dance floor with a giggling Hunk in tow. Pidge and Allura followed, the former casting a lazy salute as she disappeared into the thronging crowds.

‘Well, I have a surprise or two to announce. I shall leave you to enjoy the show, paladins.’ And Brak was gone, swimming through the crowd with his arms raised and his great, embroidered sleeves swinging. The quiet waiter followed in his wake, gloved hands shoved into his pockets and face sullen.

Shiro exhaled loudly, puffing his cheeks out and emptying them until he sagged in on himself. ‘He’s really something.’

There was no answer. When Shiro glanced at Keith, he could see the younger man work at his back teeth with his tongue, upset.

Shiro touched the tip of Keith’s elbow. Solemn eyes dragged up from the dance floor to meet his own.

‘Don’t let him get to you,’ said Shiro.

‘Who?’

‘Whoever it is that’s getting to you.’

Keith scoffed, hearing the unspoken “ _this time”_ in the tailwinds of Shiro’s words. His gaze returned to the dancers moving back and forth across the floor. Lance hooted as he zoomed past, riding high on Hunk’s shoulders. ‘I’m not.’

‘Really?’ A tilt of the head. ‘Is that why your fist has been clenched by your side for the last two minutes? You’re going to dent the rings Daika Brak loaned you.’

Keith unclenched his hand, studying the fine gold rings; how alien they looked on his knobbly-knuckled fingers. He’d bitten the nails down to the quick. _Ugly_ , he thought. He said nothing, and stared off again at the dancers. Another cough sputtered in his throat. He closed his eyes against a sudden blush that lit the side of his neck all the way up to his temples.

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you getting sick?’

‘My esteemed guests!’ Daika Brak, who’d done a passable job of being absent for all of five minutes, now stood on the broad balcony that stretched the width of the dance floor. Lights flew to him, but the dancers (together with Shiro and Keith) seemed to exhibit a collected, existential grumble at the interruption. He carried on regardless, tusked cheeks billowing with each and every word. ‘This very cycle, the Paladins of Voltron saved us from the long and brutal hand of the empire! In their fortitude, we are stable! In their bravery, we are courageous! And in their might,’ he paused, ‘we are victorious!’ Cheers thundered throughout the room, bouncing off the gleaming marble walls. ‘There is something though…’ the magnate continued, holding aloft a calming finger. ‘There is something… Say what you might – yes, yes, quiet now, quiet – say what you might…’  He gestured behind him. The waiter stepped forward on the spotlit balcony, a lumbering weight in his arms. ‘My friends! I know you all despise the filthy, bloodthirsty, vicious race, known as the galra...’

The room exploded into hisses, boos, jeers. Someone launched a cup. Lance, still propped up on Hunk’s shoulder’s, made finger guns at Keith who stared back with bright eyes. He coughed again into his fist, righted himself, and coughed once more. His chest heaved like a sparrow’s.

‘There _is_ such a thing as a good galra…’ More boos; louder now, angrier. Brak was, after all, an incredible statesman.

‘Are you okay?’ Shiro asked, bringing his fingers up to push a thick lock of hair from Keith’s face. Wet, skittish eyes met his own and danced away again. His skin was damp with sweat. ‘You're _boiling_. Keith....’

‘There _is_ such a thing as a good galra, my dear citizens,’ continued Brak, lifting the object from his waiter’s arms and dropping it over the balcony ledge. The rope by which it was tied pulled taut, and it bounced in place. ‘A dead galra!’

The crowd frothed into a baying clot of spitting mouths and savage mouths. An effigy of a galra hung by the neck, red streamers spilling from its throat and gut; eyes gouged.

Keith doubled at the waist, opened his mouth, and vomited on the marble floor.

‘Keith!’

‘Come one, come all! Let’s teach this violet beast the passionate rage of The Gift!’ boomed Brak from on high. A guest launched a plate at the effigy, it connected with a thunk and fell to the floor where it shattered. The crowd rushed forward, hands reaching to tear the thing free.

Shiro ducked into Keith’s space, attempting to guide him upright again, but a sharp hand slapped him away.

‘Get off me!’ Keith cried, stumbling back, shoulder ricocheting off a jubilant guest. The guest grabbed Keith in a chummy embrace with one arm, punching the air with the other. Keith pushed away with a growl, but collided with someone else who was less joyful.

‘Watch it!’ he said, shoving Keith.

The thing about Keith Kogane was there came a point when he pushed back, and when he did, he didn’t fuck around. He threw his weight against the larger guest, two hands slamming against a broad chest. Catching his long tail under his feet, the guest crashed backwards like a felled tree. His head connected with the edge of a table with a sharp crack. Several heads turned towards the ruckus, and when the first eyes landed on the down guest, forehead weeping blood, the jeering crowd became peppered with frightened gasps.

‘Jesus... Keith… hey!’ Shiro was in his space again, pushing him backwards by his biceps. Keith strained against him, eyes wild and teeth bubbled with spit.

Another missile flew past them and connected with the hanging galra, dislodging a piece of its cheek. Candy spilled from the cavity and into the crowd in a colourful shower. People rushed past the pair of paladins, careless of their sharp elbows and crushing feet. Shiro pressed Keith against his chest.

‘Hey..Hey! Look at me… _look_ …’

When he raised his head, Keith’s face was anguished, puckered and damp with sweat. He tossed his head as though struck, and coughed deep in his chest. When he opened his cracked lips, fluid, foamy and pale, spilled down his chin.

‘Oh my God.’ Shiro’s arm tightened around Keith, and though he opened his mouth to call out for help, his breath caught in his throat. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. Adjusting his grip on Keith, he tried again. ‘Help!’ he cried. ‘Help! He’s been poisoned! He's been – Keith!’

Keith tried to pull away again, a frustrated roar building in his throat. He squeezed his arms up between their chests and pushed his fingers into Shiro’s throat and cheek, smearing spit and poison, drawing himself away with every ounce of strength he could muster.

Shiro resisted. ‘Hey!’ He swung his other arm around Keith, who bucked against its iron hold. His fight, however, was weakening with every pitiful attempt.

‘Shiro!’ Lance bounded through the crowd. ‘I heard –’ He spotted Keith; the mess on the floor, the bloodied, outraged guest. ‘What?!’

By now, a small audience had formed. Keith puked again, a stream of chalky white. A scandalised yell tore loose from an alien dressed all in red. He dropped his intended missile to the floor with a thunk.

‘Shiro?’ Keith, no longer struggling, seemed to have reached a patch of clarity. He ran his hands along Shiro's arms, fixing his stance with small, uncertain steps. Panting so hard his whole chest rattled, he tried to focus blown eyes on Shiro. ‘Help,’ he choked, large eyes desperate. 'Help, Shiro...' His throat spasmed again, and foam bubbled from a slack mouth. He brought a hand to the collar, tugging it away from his throat like a snared animal. They stuttered to his lips, making weak attempts to pull out the creamy matter with trembling fingers.

'God, Keith...' Shiro said, catching Keith's fingers and clutching them with his left hand. The rings ground against each other. Shiro hated them. Hated how they'd dressed Keith up, forced him into the stiff fabric and high collar, now puckered with the efforts of Keith's clawing fingers. 'You're going to be okay,' he said stupidly. 'Please.'

There was a beat, a moment, where Keith's eyes fixed on his own; eyes that wanted to believe Shiro, eyes doing battle with the blunt truth of the tremors and puke. He sagged in Shiro’s arms, the fine gold chain spilling from his hair so it hung by one side.

Shiro sank to the ground, Keith still in his arms, as Pidge and Hunk skidded into the circle. Pidge’s hand flew to her mouth.

‘Get Allura!’ Shiro roared. ‘Where is she?! Where is Allura? Somebody get the Princess of Altea!’

With his back pressed flush against Shiro’s thighs, Keith lay gasping with palms upturned. Somehow, absurdly, he’d lost a boot. His pale, naked foot scraped across the floor, making troughs in his pool of vomit. Shiro clasped him by his thin shoulders, pulling him closer and out of the mess. He scooped a hand under Keith’s head, felt the jaw working. He was worried Keith would snap a tooth. At the fringes of the high scarlet collar of Keith’s shirt, where the throat pulsed sickeningly, the skin had started to pale into a strange, translucent death: a web of pale veins, set against the horrid white of poison within. It crept ever upward, unnatural and unhalting.

The crowd parted for Allura and Daika Brak.

'The Mantle of God,' whispered the magnate. 'A flower, poisonous to galra.'

The princess dropped to her knees at Keith’s head.

‘The poison,’ she said. ‘I can’t stop it.’

Shiro sobbed. He rubbed his nose against his shoulder, losing himself to the panic. He had to gather himself.  _Had to._ For Keith. With a loud sniff – eyes to the heavens – he recovered.

'Allura, we have to do something. Your magic, your powers...'

‘I can't cure it. This poison is deeply of this world. But I can… I can _pause_ it. I can temper it. Until we find a cure.’ She spun towards Daika Brak. ‘There is a cure, isn’t there?’

‘It wasn’t… I don’t…’

From the balcony, a single voice cried, ‘I will die before I see a galra pilot Voltron! Long live Voltron! Death to all galra!’ The waiter turned so that his back faced the crowd, took one step backwards, and tumbled over the balcony. Some screamed, pushed and fought to run from the hall, while others hung back, watching the fall of the red paladin with steady, appraising eyes.

Back bent, Keith sought Allura’s face with his own terrified gaze.

‘I can freeze it Keith. Halt it, by halting… halting _you._ But it won’t be pleas–’

‘Do it.’

‘Shiro, there are reasons why Alteans don’t –’

‘What are you waiting for?!’ Shiro snarled. ‘Do it, for Christ’s sake!’

Allura bit her lip and nodded her assent, wounded but determined nonetheless. She brought her forefingers to lay against Keith’s jaw, while her thumbs pressed against his temples. Violet eyes connected – grave and searching – before they rolled back in his head. A beat later, he started fitting, hands straining at the wrists, fingers bending until the bones cracked. From the crowd, someone spat. It landed beneath Keith's kicking feet with a wet splat. 'Galra scum!' she said. A few echoed her, and the crowd began to seethe with fresh spirit; some defending the red paladin, others questioning if, in fact, he had been discovered as a mole for the empire.

'Hey!' Pidge yelled, broken from her horrified trance. She began pushing the crowd back, her bayard materialising in her right hand. Hunk started from the other side. Between them, Lance stood frozen, knuckles pressed against his mouth.

The blue light of Altean magic began to glow around Allura’s fingers, and where they touched, crystals like fine salt began to filter out across Keith’s skin. A few sharp bucks, and his body began to still. His eyes slid up to Shiro’s, then out across the amassed spectators.

In Shiro’s arms, Keith’s eyes slipped closed, tears spilling free and freezing in their tracks in the next second. He lay unmoving as Altean magic ran frigid across his pale skin. Miniscule, icy crystals formed in its wake, clinging to his long, dark lashes and crusting along his jaw and throat, where the march of the poison had stopped.

Shiro sighed into another aching sob as Allura finished her practice with a silent bow.

Hunk strode towards Daika Brak, towering over him with a murderous face. ‘You’ll tell us where the cure is,’ he demanded.

‘I will,’ said Brak, shivering with upset. ‘But only one of you may enter. Strange magic lies there, the likes of which only the strongest can match.’

Shiro closed his eyes, Keith’s still face a ghost in the darkness. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. He rubbed at Keith’s shoulder, so cold. ‘I’ll get the cure. I’ll bring him back.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a planned two-shot, so very likely it will not be continued! Head-canon til you're heart's content if you so wish though! Save yer man, Shiro! :)
> 
> EDIT: After much complaint (haha!) I'll write a short epilogue. Would love someone to write Shiro's adventure though!


End file.
